Chapter 20
Twenty
Cam froze, forgetting how to move when his every thought was consumed by the scene in front of him.
By his world falling apart before his eyes.
Nic didn’t dance.
Except with Garrett, apparently.
Making matters worse, his training had him cataloguing every other damning piece of evidence in the room.
Fire blazing. Gravity tee tossed over a chair. Nic in his camo jacket, half zipped, exposing the tattoos on his torso. His bare feet.
Like he was at home, right here in Garrett’s room.
In Garrett’s arms.
Had Nic been lying all those times he’d said or implied he no longer had feelings for Garrett?
That his heart now belonged to Cam? Cam didn’t think he’d lied, at least not intentionally, but maybe Nic’s heart had needed a few days to warm back up to Garrett.
To remind Nic of his first love. Of the family he once had and could have again if he just claimed it.
Claimed Garrett, which it looked like he was on the way to doing.
Nic stepped out of Garrett’s embrace, and self-preservation jump-started Cam’s motor functions, propelling him back toward the door.
“I’ll be in your room next door,” he said to Nic.
“When you’re ready to talk about the rescue and your case.
” Then to Garrett. “Stay here. The rescue teams are right behind me, fifteen minutes max.” Getting Lette out of Vaughn’s clutches and getting Nic back for his grand jury hearing had to come first. He’d deal with his aching heart later.
He hustled out the door, Nic’s “Boston, wait!” echoing behind him.
Outside on the elevated walkway, he exchanged card keys, swiped the one for Nic’s room over the automatic lock, and opened the door, just as the one next door opened again. Cam hurried inside, letting the door go, but Nic’s bare foot stopped it from slamming shut.
“Fucking hell, Boston.” Yanking back his foot, Nic pushed open the door and hobbled inside, collapsing on the end of the king-size bed.
Cam’s first instinct was to go to him. He hated that his second instinct was to check his first, paralyzed again in the middle of the room. “I’m sorry.”
Nic was examining his foot, propped on his knee. “It’ll be fine.”
“I meant for barging in. I didn’t think you’d be in there. I was looking for clues as to where you and Garrett might have gone.”
“Don’t apologize. I meant for you to find us.”
“Dancing?” The word was out before Cam could catch it or temper the spite that colored it.
Nic lowered his foot and flopped back on the bed, eyes slipping shut. “I owed him that one.”
“Half naked?”
“I showed him the cypress tattoo. I owed him that much too.”
“You don’t owe him your career.”
Nic opened his eyes, and the sun streaming through the sheer curtains turned his blue irises icy clear, stark against the bloodshot whites.
Captivated by the oddly beautiful and equally concerning sight, Cam almost missed Nic’s reply, a heavily sighed, “I agree.”
“You agree?” Cam stepped to the side of the bed and fisted his hand, resisting the urge to run his fingers through Nic’s brown and silver strands. “Then why are you down here?”
“Because he was going after Lette no matter what you or I said.” He squinted against the sun’s rays, forehead creasing. “I had to stall him.”
Cam’s chest ached, the need to comfort the man he loved warring with his anger and confusion. The former won, Cam’s fingers smoothing over the deep groove between Nic’s brows. “Is he gonna bolt on us now?”
“No, he knows the jig is up.” Nic lifted an arm and grasped his wrist, drawing his hand into his and winding their fingers together. “And that you’re our best shot for getting Lette back.”
“You couldn’t convince him of that back home?”
He guided the back of Cam’s hand to his forehead, pressing it there like a balm, like it was somehow soothing. “He showed up five minutes after you left, along with a text from Victoria begging me to keep him safe. He was going with or without me.”
Cam shifted closer, blocking the sun’s rays. “Why didn’t you call or text me?”
“From in the car next to him?” Nic lowered their clasped hands to over his chest, holding them there. “I could have tried, but I also knew you were in the middle of planning the op. I didn’t want to compromise Lette’s rescue further. I knew you weren’t far behind us. You’d find me. You always do.”
“What if you couldn’t have stalled him?”
“I at least had to try, for Lette’s sake.
I won’t add her initials to my back too.
I won’t let her be a regret for some action I failed to take.
Or some mess I made.” He tugged Cam down, to the edge of the bed next to his hip.
“The only way we’re going to save Lette is to let you do your job, and I do mine, but I had to get Garrett to stand down first or at least get him out of the line of fire. ”
“You’re wrong.”
The crease between Nic’s brows reappeared and Cam lifted his other hand, soothing it once more. “You didn’t fail to take action the first time.” He coasted his hand down, cupping Nic’s rough cheek. “You didn’t make a mess.”
“Garrett said the same thing before I showed him the tattoo.”
Cam wondered what else Garrett had said then or when they were dancing. Doubts resurfaced like a sledgehammer, smashing the quiet moment. “Nic, he’s your first love, if you—”
Nic rocketed up, clasped hands between them, free hand snaking around the side of Cam’s neck. “I’m not in love with him anymore. I’m in love with you.”
Proving his point, Nic captured his lips in a hard kiss that was the opposite of last night’s soft, sweet assurances.
This was an argument, plain and simple, and the familiarity of the approach, the bedrock of their interactions, comforted Cam more than words.
But not enough to snuff out every wisp of doubt.
“But your family . . .” he whispered against Nic’s lips.
Drawing back, Nic slid his hand to the side of Cam’s face. “Got bigger. But you, Cameron . . .” His thumb brushed over his cheek, then his lips, and Cam’s eyes fluttered closed. “You’re the center of my family. Of my world. The one I’ve chosen and built for myself.”
God, they were all the words Cam needed to hear, evidenced by the rough sincerity in Nic’s voice and his tender touch.
Cam moved to lean into it, to chase after everything he wanted, and nearly fell over when Nic shifted farther back.
Only Nic’s hand still clasped in his kept Cam from face-planting into the mattress.
He scowled at a chuckling Nic, who untangled their hands in order to finish lifting his hip so he could pull his wallet out of his back pocket. Nic withdrew a folded piece of yellow legal paper and handed it to Cam. It had been carried around for some time judging by the worn creases.
Cam unfolded it to find a drawing, clearly in Nic’s hand. Cam was familiar with it, having seen Nic’s sketch of the FBI Stout label, which this drawing resembled. Except where the label had had Gravity’s falling apricot logo for a cloverleaf, this one had a Red Sox styled B.
Boston.
For him.
Heart hammering, Cam traced over it with his thumb, only looking up when Nic took hold of his other hand and placed it over his left hip.
“When this mess with Vaughn is over and everyone’s safe, that design is going right here.”
In the spot Cam had seen Nic frequently rub a hand over lately. He’d thought Nic had tweaked a muscle there or that the motion was random, a tic he’d developed. It hadn’t been random at all. This—he looked down again at the tattoo design—was why.
“You make me a better prosecutor. A better friend. A better man. And you are the only man I want to spend my future with.”
The page went blurry, and Cam looked up, blinking rapidly. “Nic, what are you saying?”
“I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Boston. You’re it for me.” Nic was making a place for him in his life and on his body, permanently.
Clearing his throat, Cam laid the tattoo design on the bedside table, safely out of the way, before grasping Nic’s hand and scooting closer. “You’re it for me too, baby.”
Nic’s smile was as bright as the sun, burning away the lines on his face and turning his eyes to liquid fire. “What happens when the cavalry arrives?”
“You’re flying back on the Talley jet for your grand jury hearing while I rescue your sister.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Nic rested his forehead against Cam’s. “So then can I spend the next ten minutes kissing my future husband?”
Hand around his neck again, there was no way Nic didn’t feel the stutter of his pulse. Cam’s heart liked the sound of “future husband” very much.
Tension receding, the instinct to argue, to tease, roared back. “I don’t remember saying yes.”
“You will.”
“Awfully confident.”
Nic got that courtroom-ready look about him, the one that made Cam’s blood boil. “I will win this argument. My life, our future, depends on it.”
“Do your best, Counselor.”
By the time the cavalry arrived, he’d kissed Cam’s lips numb and stolen his heart for good, winning the argument.